


Dirty Laundry

by skeletonsmama



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Accidentally Getting Stuck in a Washing Machine, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Hide and Seek, M/M, vaguely set in australia because i cant really see this happening anywhere else in the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonsmama/pseuds/skeletonsmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be an easy game of semi-naked hide and seek. </p><p>(Or: the one where Grantaire ends up stuck inside a top loader and Enjolras is concerned)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Laundry

**Author's Note:**

> Based, of course, off [this](http://www.news.com.au/lifestyle/real-life/a-naked-man-becomes-stuck-in-a-washing-machine-after-a-risky-game-of-hide-and-seek/story-fnixwvgh-1226795866322%20).
> 
> many thanks to emily for betaing!! all mistakes are my own

Eponine and Cosette had lost last week’s draw and were graciously hosting for weekly drinks and whatever ensued (something _always_ ensued). It was enough of a tradition amongst the group, but with the sheer amount of them schedule clashes nearly always occurred. Feuilly and Bahorel were working at the fire station, and Bossuet was visiting family, but aside from that everyone was well and accounted for.

Hide and seek came after strip poker. Most of them were in varying degrees of un-dress, with Grantaire being the worst off, decked only in a strikingly mismatched pair of socks. He was shameless in his nudity, at least. Unlike some of their friends. Namely Enjolras, who -- despite managing to retain his briefs -- had a distinct flush creeping up his throat and cheeks.

As Enjolras grabbed at his clothes in a small pile behind him to redress for hide and seek, Courfeyrac snatched them from his hands, tutting in his almost-fully dressed glory.

“Nuh-uh, not until you leave.”

“But Courf-”

“Rules are rules, Enjolras. Trust me; you have _nothing_ to be ashamed of.” Enjolras scowled and released his grip, sending Courfeyrac stumbling back, where he promptly crashed into the DVD tower, spilling its contents over the floor. Enjolras looked slightly more pleased after that, as Courfeyrac grumbled about cleaning it up.

They were all sent off to hide as Combeferre, the victor, counted to a hundred.

They split off quickly, Eponine and Cosette’s house being big enough for a good spread. Grantaire gave a mock salute to Jehan as he ducked into the laundry, grinning. There was, if he remembered right, a cupboard he could lie flat in. As much as he basked in his nakedness, Grantaire sincerely doubted the Combeferre would be pleased to be met with a face-full of ass or cock upon reveal.  

There was no such cupboard, and he was about to hurry back into the hall when he spotted the washing machine.

It was a top loader with big enough capacity, easy enough as long as he was somewhat quiet about it.

Grantaire lifted the lid and placed a hand on either side it, jumping up and lowering himself into the machine as delicately as possible. It was a bit of a tight squeeze the metal sides scraping against his back as he sunk down.

The washing machine wasn’t exactly as big as Grantaire had expected, and he was left with his shoulders-up hanging out.

Well, fuck.

Combeferre’s call of a hundred put an end to his thoughts of moving. Minutes went by in a haze of boredom. He was beginning to wish he’d stuck with Jehan, or at least _someone,_ incidental flashing or not. Also, this washing machine was incredibly uncomfortable, zero out of ten, Grantaire would not recommend.

The door to the laundry finally opened, Enjolras peeking through. He spotted Grantaire and called out to the others, making a motion for Grantaire to join him.

Grantaire shoved against the sides, but nothing happened.

He tried again, wriggling as best he could, but still nothing.

“Grantaire, what are you doing? Come on, you were the last one.”

“I. Uh. Houston, we have a problem.”

“A problem, you’re not stuck, are you?” Enjolras asked and Grantaire shrugged helplessly.

It was beautiful to see the look of realisation slowly dawn across Enjolras’s face, the gentle widening of eyes and raising of eyebrows. The way his shoulders sagged the slightest bit in defeat, his hand slipped numbly off the doorframe.

“You got yourself stuck. In Eponine and Cosette’s washing machine. While you’re _naked.”_

“Cookie for you, now can you either go get the others or try to _do_ something?”

“What can I _do?”_

“Come and pull me out, for one.”

“Enjolras recomposed himself and sauntered over. “Right. Of course.” His hands fluttered around Grantaire’s hands and arms, flitting up and down as if he couldn’t decide where to rest them. After a moment Grantaire took pity on him, stilling Enjolras’s hands with his own.

“Now, pull.”

Enjolras pulled, grunting.

By the time Enjolras had nearly pulled his arms out of their sockets -- the boy could fucking _pull --_ Grantaire hadn’t budged a bit and Enjolras looked ready to collapse. Grantaire swore. “It might be time to get the others? More brainpower, or something.”

Cosette was going to _kill_ him.

Soon their friends were crowding the narrow room, peering at Grantaire like he was an organism under a microscope.

He buried his head in his hands and whined.

"Would someone at least get me a fucking cigarette? Or more vodka?"

Somebody obliged him a cigarette and he smoked while waiting for someone else to come up with something.

Jehan broke the silence. “At the end of the day, it’s a pretty good hiding spot.”

Grantaire whined again.

Cosette, resourceful as always, was the first to suggest something useful. “So we know pulling won’t work. Does anyone want to call the fire brigade and get Bahorel and Feuilly down here? Firemen are trained to deal with stuff like this.”

“Trained to deal with wankers getting themselves stuck in a washing machine?” Jehan said, incredulous. Grantaire made a wounded noise.

“Something along those lines. Courf, be a dear and call the fire station for me?”

 

The first thing Bahorel did when he walked into the laundry –now devoid of people save Enjolras and Cosette -- was spend three minutes laughing, and a further two minutes trying to compose himself into some degree of professionalism.

“Only you mate, only you.”

“Yeah, yeah, now can you get me out of this fucking thing? I can’t feel my fucking legs.”

He’d been stuck for about an hour now, legs cramping, back sore, and everything just _sucked_.    

The fire department had only spared the two of them on, in Feuilly’s words ‘the wanker in the washing machine’, which Grantaire couldn’t exactly dispute.

“Have you been chatting with Jehan, by chance?”

“Nope. It's just true." Feuilly grinned. Bahorel shoved him affectionately, taking over in some semblence of procedure. 

"So there is a vague method for this. You’re not the first to get tuck in a tight spot, lucky for you, though you are _our_ first, and naked at that. Pretty much what we’re gonna do is cover you in a shittonne of cooking oil. Feuilly’s rifling through Cosette’s kitchen as we speak. Once you’re slicked and slippery, we haul you out. If that fails, we bring in the artillery. By which I mean an angle grinder. Hopefully it won’t come to that. Cosette’s already threatened me over the washing machine, so here’s hoping.”

With his attention now with nowhere else to go, Grantaire focuses it like a laser beam on Enjolras. 

"Why aren't you out with the others?" He asks. "Don't make me try to guess while you stand there all haughty in your red fucking Bonds. I'm stuck in a washing machine, Enjolras, have some pity."

Under any other circumstances Grantaire wouldn't be caught dead asking for things from Enjolras; pity, mercy, a literal helping hand. But this was so far from any other circumstances and Grantaire was too exhausted to deal with any of the double-speak shit Enjolras usually pulled.

"Um."

Stellar start from Enjolras.

"Because I care about your wellbeing?" Enjolras said hesitantly.

"How is that a question. How, Enjolras, how.”

Enjolras was blushing now, blood heating his skin all over his chest and neck and _god_ he was pretty.

Cosette abruptly cleared her throat and strode out of the room, shooting the pair of them a Look.

"Enjolras, honey, _be clear_. Grantaire, never go near my washing machine again. Bahorel," she clapped him on the shoulder. "Good luck."

The moment’s pause was obviously what Enjolras needed, and with a complete absence of stops and starts and pauses searching for words he said, "I’m here because Iike you as more than a friend quite a bit and I'm being very selfish right now and objectifying you somewhat because _jesus_ you're well hung. Not that I was looking earlier I just..noticed."

At least he didn't get any redder.

Just as Grantaire managed to snap out of his stunned stupor and lift his metaphorical jaw off the metaphorical floor, Feuilly entered, lugging a huge can of what looked to be olive oil on his shoulder.

"We are talking about this when there are more clothes and fewer washing machines, right?" Grantaire just had time to hiss out.

Enjolras nodded and took a step back, leaving Feuilly and Bahorel to do whatever they needed to do.

God Grantaire wanted to go back in time and slap himself for thinking it would be a good idea to hide in fucking top loader.  

“Get ready to slick up.” Feuilly said, pouring oil down Grantaire’s back and front. “Try to move a little, let it drip to the tighter bits.” Grantaire tried his best, rippling and arching his back as best he could.

They tried pulling him again, succeeding only in nearly dislocating his shoulders.

Then, with Cosette’s permission, they gently tilted the machine onto its side, working with gravity instead of against it.

Which is how, half a can of oil, the combined effort of three people and a good dose of sheer bloody-minded willpower later, Grantaire slid out of the machine and laid face down on the tile floor, pointedly not looking at anyone. 

“Floor! I never thought I’d walk on you again, that I’d never see you outside the narrow window of vision provided to me by my position of reduced movement. Hallelujah, praise the fucking lord!”

Once Grantaire had been given the medical all clear from Joly, Bahorel and Feuilly went back to the station. After that almost everyone else left, yelling their goodbye as they walked out the door.

Save Enjolras, of course.

“Look, Enjolras, I know we need to ‘communicate’ or whatever, but it can wait until I’ve had a shower and put some clothes on.”

Enjolras nodded firmly. “I’ll be here then. Unless Eponine makes me move, in which case I’ll be in my car. You’re riding with me, by the way. Jehan’s gone home.” He added sheepishly, and Grantaire just gave him a vaguely tired huff of air in response.

He stood under the spray for a good half-hour, making a mental note to apologise to Eponine and Cosette about the water bill. Maybe he should send them chocolates. He should also probably actually apologise for the shitfest that was getting stuck in the washing machine, but _later._

Enjolras was still in the exact same spot when Grantaire got out, still in nothing more than his boxer briefs.

God his fucking _torso_ was going to be the death of Grantaire if he didn’t put a goddamn shirt on soon.

Grantaire told him as much. “And possibly your pants, and anything else you were wearing.”

“My clothes aren’t here.”

“Where are your clothes?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I think Courfeyrac may have accidentally taken them with him. Or not so accidentally.  And I’m taller than both Eponine and Cosette, so…”

Grantaire didn’t know whether to kiss Courfeyrac or kill him. That was, if he didn’t die from the way Enjolras’s back muscles rippled when he walked first. And don’t even get him _started_ on that ass.

They each called out a mumbled goodbye to their hosts, and Enjolras helped Grantaire into the car. He hadn’t been that tired when he’d gotten into the shower, but the combination of warm water, the adrenaline from earlier wearing off and the steady flow of alcohol that had been consumed before the whole debacle made him sleepy.

 

Much to Enjolras’s chagrin, Grantaire was asleep before the end of the street.

Enjolras forewent the drive to Grantaire’s flat on the other side of town for his own more conveniently placed apartment. Not as if it was the first time Grantaire had crashed on his couch for the night.

Grantaire wrapped his arms tight around Enjolras chest as he coaxed him out of the car. A sleepy Grantaire was a clingy Grantaire, and Enjolras was willing to indulge. After awkwardly penguin waddling up the stairs, Enjolras tried to divest himself of Grantaire and deposit him on the couch, but Grantaire just mumbled incoherently and held him tighter. His hair was damp against Enjolras’s chest and while Enjolras wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through it there were more important things to take care of.

With a sigh he led Grantaire to his bed, hoping he’d be able to loosen him there.

“Grantaire, I’m going to sleep on the couch. Let go, please?”

“Nah, just stay--” he was interrupted by a yawn, “--here. Only if you want to though.” He said blearily.

“Just let me get some pants on.” Grantaire finally loosened his grip and Enjorlas grabbed two pairs of track-pants from a drawer, throwing one at Grantaire, who was still in his jeans from earlier.

Enjolras slid under the covers next to Grantaire, who immediately wrapped his arms back around his still-bare chest.

“We need to talk about this in the morning,” Enjolras whispered and Grantaire mumbled a vague affirmation.

“The morning is ages away. Nothing that has the vaguest resemblance to communication until then,  ‘Jolras.”

Enjolras tentatively returned the hug, rolling onto his side and tangling their legs together at the same time. He fell asleep to the sound of Grantaire’s kitten snores with a hand tangled in his hair.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. the washing machine hes stuck in looks like [this](http://www.lg.com/au/washing-machines/lg-WT-H650-top-loader-washing-machine)  
> 2\. bonds is an australian clothing company that makes underwear. enjolras's fabulous red briefs look like [this](http://www.bonds.com.au/media/catalog/product/cache/5/small_image/239x310/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/M/Z/MZVJI_YE8_1.jpg)
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr](http://montparrnasse.co.vu)!!


End file.
